Bitter Harvest (25 page)

Bree stood up abruptly, her eyes cold. “So you’re just dabbling in this, to see if you like it? And if it’s too hard, you’re just going to walk away?”

Bree’s anger startled Meg. “No, that’s not what I meant. Hey, you know I want to see this work. I’ve enjoyed the work, even the sweaty physical stuff, and I’ve loved learning something new. But I need to believe it’s a good business decision to keep going. And I need to decide that now, before I invest too much more energy into it.”

Bree regarded her for a long moment. “Well, let me know what you decide. If I’m going to be looking for work, I’d rather know sooner than later.” She stalked out of the room and went up the stairs.

Meg continued to sit, staring at nothing, shocked by Bree’s vehement reaction. She had disappointed Bree—that much was clear. And Bree had done a terrific job. So why wasn’t she happier with the outcome? What the heck did she want from her life? If there were some cosmic guarantee that she could keep on doing what she had done for the past year, and that costs and income would keep pace with each other, would the return on her investment of energy be enough? It was honest work, if hard. Did she want to go back to city offices and endless number crunching?

And what was forcing the decision? She had come to love the house, cold and drafty and decrepit as it was. She liked the town, and she was beginning to make friends. And then there was Seth . . . was he part of the problem? Their relationship seemed to be moving forward in fits and starts. They were both busy people, and she’d told him from the beginning that she wasn’t ready to jump into anything right away: she’d been burned by her last relationship, and she had wanted to focus on learning the business, seeing if she could make it work. Well, she was definitely over Chandler Hale, and apparently the business was solid, if not highly profitable. What was she waiting for?

Bree came clomping down the stairs. “I’m going over to Michael’s,” she said curtly.

“Bree, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rain on your parade.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Bree pulled on her jacket and hat and slammed out the back door. Meg heard Bree’s car start up and watched as she pulled out of the driveway. She took a deep breath, then picked up the phone.

“Seth, are you busy?”

Seth had still been in his office next door, so he appeared a few minutes later. “What’s up?” he asked, as he hung up his coat. “You sounded upset.”

Meg struggled to find an answer and chose to duck the question. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure. Beer if you’ve got it. Stay there—I know where to look.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. He knuckled Lolly’s head before turning to Meg and leaning against the refrigerator. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I know.” Might as well get straight to the point. “Bree finally finished working the numbers for the orchard operation,” she said.

“Are they bad?”

“No, we actually made a profit. A small one.”

“That’s great! So what’s the problem? Because you don’t look exactly happy.”

His smile should have warmed her, but it didn’t. “I don’t know.” Which was the absolute truth. She wanted to be happy—didn’t she?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes, I guess so.” Meg sighed. “After she gave me a summary, Bree got mad at me and left in a huff because I guess I didn’t seem enthusiastic enough for her. I can’t blame her. I should have realized how important this was for her. I mean, it’s her first job, and she’s worked really hard, under difficult conditions, and then I go and blow her off. Could you pour me a glass of wine?”

Seth complied, handing her a full glass. Meg took it from him and downed a healthy swig. She realized that Seth was watching her. “What?”

“I’m worried about you. You get what should be good news and it makes you depressed. Did you expect something different?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I expected. For so long I was focused on getting through the harvest—just surviving, I guess. I don’t think I had any specific expectations. What’s worse,
I
don’t really understand why I’m not happier.”

“Agriculture isn’t easy—you must have figured that out by now. You shouldn’t expect too much.
Any
profit is good these days.”

“I know that, at least in my head. I grasped how hard it all was about the third week in the orchard. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Well, you’re stressed out,” Seth said.

“Why do you say that? This is the easiest time I’ve had since I arrived. In fact, I keep looking for things to do, which is why I’ve been sucked into all this genealogy stuff, and figuring out the sampler. I’m getting plenty of rest, and probably eating too much.”

“Well, there was the furnace going out on you, and a major blizzard. And then this harassment business. It’s a lot, coming all at once.”

Meg laughed bitterly. “I’m not even sure if this so-called harassment is anything more than a series of coincidences. Maybe my karma is misaligned, or there’s a full moon this week. Things happen. It doesn’t mean there’s anyone behind them.”

“And if there is?”

“Seth, we’ve been over this before. I have no idea why anyone would have a grudge against me. I haven’t seen anyone doing anything suspicious. Maybe I’m just being overimaginative, now that I’m not perpetually exhausted.”

Meg held out her now-empty glass, and Seth refilled it without comment. Lolly jumped down from her perch on the refrigerator and started winding around Meg’s ankles. “Oh, right—you want food.” Meg stood up and found a can of cat food in a cabinet and spooned out half of it on a plate, which she set on the floor. Without looking at Seth, Meg said, “You’re not saying much.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say. It sounds like this is something you have to work through in your own head.”

“And here I was looking for a father confessor and kindly counselor.”

Seth held out his hands in protest. “Were you? Meg, what do you want from me? If you want advice, I’ll give you advice.”

“I haven’t asked for advice.”

“Then why am I here?” Seth asked.

Meg opened her mouth to answer, although she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, when she was startled by the sound of breaking glass, followed by a distant crack. Seth threw her to the floor, landing on top of her, and she realized that the window over the sink was now
in
the sink and all over the floor, and cold air was rushing into the room.

“What was that?” she managed to say from under Seth’s weight.

“That,” Seth said, his voice tight, “was a rifle shot. Which just blew out your window. Did you see anyone outside?”

“What, just now? No, I was looking at you. I guess nobody can say I was imagining that.” The reality of what had happened finally caught up to her: that had been a bullet, and it could have hit her, or Seth. She began to shake.

“Stay there,” Seth ordered, and stood up, keeping away from the gaping hole that had been the window. He moved to the back door and looked out cautiously. He didn’t move for several moments, then he came back to the kitchen. “No one out there now, that I can see.”

“You think it was a hunter?”

“If it was, he’s an idiot. You never fire a shot without knowing where your target is, and what lies on the other side. Which in this case is houses—including yours. That shot could have hit you. I’m going to call Art—he needs to know there’s some damn fool out there shooting carelessly.”

Meg picked herself up off the floor, avoiding the pieces of glass. “What about the window?”

Seth was fishing in a zipped outer pocket for his cell phone. “Let me call Art first. I think I’ve got some plywood that would fit.” He stalked into the dining room to make the call.

When he came back, Meg asked, “Is this hunting season? Because I
have
seen deer up in the orchard. They like the fallen apples.”

Seth snapped his phone shut. “Art’s on his way. The state hunting season runs from October through the end of December, and it’s still open. But any hunter is supposed to have a hunting license, so there’d be a record. That doesn’t mean somebody isn’t poaching. Or it could be someone after coyote—there are a lot of them around now, and they’re getting to be a nuisance. But how can anybody be so stupid?”

“I hadn’t even realized,” Meg said. “Is that my land, beyond the meadow?”

“Part of it is, to the other side of that stand of trees. Technically, it’s illegal to hunt without the owner’s permission anyway. Apparently whoever it was didn’t know—or didn’t care.”

Meg shivered, and not from the cold. Who could be thoughtless enough to shoot a rifle without knowing what lay beyond? Assuming it was a mistake and not something worse. “Is there a lot of hunting around here?” She knew she was just making conversation, because she didn’t want to think about what had just happened.

Seth shrugged. “Some. Maybe a little more this year because people are strapped and they want the meat. You ever eaten venison?”

Apparently Seth was making conversation, too. “Not that I can remember,” she said. She took a breath. “We’ll need to clean up this glass. You said Art’s coming?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here any minute.”

Meg found a dustpan and brush and had begun carefully sweeping up shards of glass from the floor when Art’s cruiser pulled into her driveway. Seth went out to meet him, and together they studied the window. Then Art turned 180 degrees and looked at the distant tree line, as Seth pointed. As Meg watched them, she realized that hunting—and the dangers that hunting represented to her—had never crossed her mind. She had never even held a gun, and the last time she had shot a bow and arrow had been in summer camp a couple of decades earlier. She couldn’t imagine depending on bagging a deer to feed a family, although she had heard that there were areas where deer posed a real threat to crops and needed thinning. Meg had noticed a few deer now and then, but how big could the population be? This part of town was moderately built up, although there were still plenty of open fields and woodlands. How much space did a deer need to hide and to forage? More things she didn’t know.

A few minutes later Seth brought Art into the kitchen, and Meg greeted him. “Hi, Art. You look tired. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, thanks, coffee would be great. Sorry this happened. I know most of the guys who hunt around here, and usually they’re careful.”

Meg chose her words carefully. “Do you think this was an accident, Art?”

Art looked at her. “You don’t? You thinking about that other stuff you told me about? Because this is in a different league, if you don’t mind my saying so. Someone could have been hurt.”

“I know. Believe me, I’d rather think it was an accident, even if it’s a stupid one.”

Art looked around the kitchen. “Where were you when it happened?”

“We were standing on either side of the table here.”

“Would you have been visible from outside?”

“You mean, from that distance?” Seth asked. “We weren’t right next to the window. It was light outside. And the land slopes down to the marsh there. So I wouldn’t swear that anyone could see us standing in the kitchen. You agree, Meg?”

“I guess.” She’d never looked at the house from that angle.

“So it could have been a very careless hunter,” Seth went on, “or maybe someone who didn’t plan to hit anyone, just make a mess and scare us. Which he did, damn it.”

Meg looked at Seth, and then at Art. “So it’s part of the same pattern, just more serious? Intimidation?”

“Maybe,” Art said. “Let me take a look at the bullet. You see where it went?”

It took the three of them a couple of minutes to locate the bullet, partially embedded in the plaster wall. Art took a penknife and pried it out. “Twenty-two caliber. Not very big. Could have done some damage to you, but probably not from that distance.” He slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Look, I’ll investigate, check for footprints before I lose the light. Ask around. I’ll let you know if I get any other reports of hunters, legal or otherwise.” He stood up wearily. “I’d better be going. Sorry it had to happen to you, Meg. See me out, Seth?”

“Bye, Art,” Meg said. She watched the men leave the house and stand in the driveway talking. At least Art couldn’t tell her she was imagining things this time—that bullet was very real. She shivered in the air from the broken window.

When Art left, Seth came back and said, “I’d better get something over that window. You sure you got all the glass?”

“I think so.”

He looked at her critically. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know what to think—whether this was a stray bullet or somebody is really trying to get to me. You tell me.”

“Meg, I don’t know what to say. I’ve lived just over the hill all my life, and I can’t recall any incident where someone was hurt by a hunter around here. You haven’t heard any other gunshots?”